i am the bloom that reaches up high

and i have seen them as well between
long hills of rolling parallel veins
etching hope like thinning blood
against the fabric
of my tissue wrists.

have you let me be?
that, which is yellowing
to green,
and seeded in the lines
of lengthening granite crags,
weathered in wind and
salt,
and blooms anyway?

i am the bloom that reaches up high

and i have seen the other,
in snow white petals that
sing,
of meadows which are home,
and in harmonies that weep.